


Shifting Balance

by ToyMouse



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/F, F/M, Female Alexander Hamilton, How Do I Tag, I Tried, Kinda Historically Accurate, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Secrets, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25564711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToyMouse/pseuds/ToyMouse
Summary: Alexander Hamilton has a secret, and keeping it hidden has allowed him to grow into the person he is now. But now that he has everything he wants, is he truly happy? Is he satisfied?Or Hamilton is a young lady who hid her gender to make a change.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, John Barker Church/Angelica Schuyler, John Laurens/Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler
Comments: 49
Kudos: 155





	1. Teaser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a teaser of sorts for this idea that simply won't leave me alone. I have the basic skeleton of the story written, as well as an idea for a prequel. I haven't really been able to find something like this, so I decided to write it for myself. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> As an aside, please forgive the weird pronouns. For this chapter (which I think might actually end up being chapter 8 or 9 when I start posting the real thing), it might be confusing, but as I upload more I hope it will make more sense. 
> 
> Also, I feel extremely uncomfortable thinking about people in forced bondage. I will try to be as fair and accurate for the time, but I may also be too squeamish to mention slaves. Everyone is a person with thoughts and dreams and I refuse to belittle anyone to that extent, even in a fictional story.

So she left. Jefferson was right. The French needed aid to win their freedom, and though Hamilton couldn't condone her country, her sweet, beautiful, brand new country, going to war, she could volunteer herself.

She left quickly after the cabinet meeting, heading first to her apartment to collect her travel bags and toiletries, then calling for a carriage to bring her home to Mt. Vernon.

Prior to leaving the office she took a brief moment to pen a letter to the President.

 **President Washington,** it began, **I would first like to thank you for considering my words during this morning's meeting. I would also like to apologize for the following contents of this letter, and the fact that I have said this within a letter rather than to you directly.** She realized her words fell from her as if she were writing in a stream of consciousness, but she needed to leave quickly. Before she lost her nerve. Before her father could walk into her office and change her mind.

**I will be taking a sabbatical, beginning 2 weeks from this day. I will happily address any situations or concerns that arise during my absence should it be needed, but I will not be physically present within the Capitol. Though you agreed with my words regarding our place as a nation within the French Revolution, or rather lack thereof, I find myself moved to action by the words of Secretary Jefferson.**

**Monsieur LaFayette is a dear friend of mine, as you well know. I made a promise to him which I had either chosen to forget or ignored until now. While in the trenches we made a promise to each other. He would aid in winning our freedom, and when the time came, I would aid in winning theirs. I may have forgotten this promise, but now that I remember, I intend to keep my word.**

**A man without his word is no man at all. Within two weeks, I will be traveling to France. I do not wish to resign, though I understand it may be unlikely for me to maintain my position. As such, I leave it in your capable hands, Mr. President, to decide my fate.**

**Your Obedient Servent,**

**A. Ham**

George scrubbed a hand tiredly over his face as he finished the letter. Heaving a great sigh, he turned from Hamilton's office intent on finding Jefferson (and, he supposed, the rest of his cabinet). A young man stood outside the office waiting to attend him.

"Go fetch the Cabinet. I have new information that cannot wait."

The young man's eyes widened and he quickly turned down the hall, moving briskly to find other attendants to aid in his task.

Looking down at the letter, George sighed again. He would see the girl during dinner tonight and perhaps he would be able to persuade her away from risking her life. It was unlikely, but he would damn well try. Once his daughter had a thought in her head it was near impossible to change it. Perhaps Martha would be able to talk some sense into their girl.

The President carefully folded the letter, tucking it into his pocket, as he rounded the last corner before turning into the Cabinet Room. A brief glance around the room and he noted that Henry Knox, Secretary of War, and Attorney General Randolph were already in attendance. Several members of the house and senate were present, including one James Madison and Aaron Burr, respectively. That should, theoretically, mean Jefferson was still in the building and most probably on his way.

This proved to be true. As George lowered himself into his seat at the head of the table, Thomas Jefferson made his appearance, head high, ridiculous bone cane in hand, and his magenta long coat moving slightly as he breezed in.

"Thank you for coming, gentlemen." George began as he rose from his seat. "I am aware the cabinet meeting has already concluded, and thank you for taking the time to reconvene on such short notice." Every face was gazing at him, trying to understand what purpose the President had called them back.

"Your Excellency?" That would be a Mr. Burr, senator from New York. "Did you intend to begin before Mr. Hamilton arrived?"

"He probably already told Hamilton!" George heard Jefferson mutter to Madison.

"Thank you, Senator Burr. Mr. Hamilton has already retired for the evening, and the news I have to share is this: Mr. Hamilton will be leaving on sabbatical in two weeks. He will be traveling to France to aid in their Revolution." He glanced around the room, taking in the different expressions. Burr, Madison, and Jefferson looked shocked. Laurens and Mulligan, who managed to sneak in without notice, looked equally as shocked, though there was something else behind their eyes. Others around the room, such as Charles Lee and Henry Knox looked smug, as if they were the reason Hamilton made this decision.

"Secretary Hamilton has made the decision of his own volition and has decided to leave the settlement of his Cabinet seat to me. I will listen to arguments and suggestions in one weeks time." Hopefully by then his daughter would give him some more insight into her plans, so he could make a more informed decision.

"That will be all, gentlemen. Thank you for your time." He carefully moved away from his chair and pushed it back into place. "Have a wonderful weekend." With that, he strode from the room, intent on packing himself into a carriage and heading home. With any luck he'll make it back before Lexi speaks to Martha.

As soon as the door closed behind the President, pandemonium erupted within the Cabinet room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually did quite a bit of research for this one tiny chapter. Although the Cabinet of today has 16 members, President Washington's cabinet had only 4: Jefferson as the Secretary of State, Hamilton as the Treasury Secretary, Henry Knox was the War Secretary (a position that later became the Secretary of the Army and the Secretary of the Air Force, these are both non-cabinet position that report directly to the SecDef), and Attorney General Edmund Randolph. At the time, Madison was in the House of Reps and Burr in the Senate. There are a couple other names that are historically accurate, though I may have messed up the actual time they were in office. 
> 
> It should also be noted that Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de La Fayette, meaning he was the Marquis of the Fayette. He was referred to in the states as Lafayette, but I figured Hamilton, being fluent in French, might understand the nuance of his name. Hence the spelling "Monsieur LaFayette." Also, if it helps, Gilbert is a French name pronounced "Jil-bear," no hard G. This I found on another author's work and felt it was important to clarify. (I cannot remember who or what I was reading to get this note, but if anyone knows please let me know!)
> 
> Also, Hercules Mulligan and John Laurens were not a part of either Senate or House, but I'm taking a few liberties here. Obviously, Laurens died before the South was informed the war was over. 
> 
> Okay, now that I'm done with the history lesson, please let me know if I should continue!


	2. Mr. Bursar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Official chapter 1! I am so humbled by the response I got for this! Thank you so much for the kudos and the reviews and the subscribes, I'm truly astonished people actually like this!
> 
> I intended to upload this on Monday, but if I read through this again I might end up just rewriting the whole thing...
> 
> Enjoy!

Her head swiveled about as she attempted to draw in the sights of the city around her. She had, of course, been here before with her mother on shopping trips, but she was always too young to go downtown on her own. Father simply wouldn’t allow it. Now though, right now father doesn’t know, and mother is her accomplice. 

Smiling to herself, she continued to observe her surroundings. The streets were not the pristine cobbled streets she had grown used to, but they intrigued her all the same, brought back memories that she tried to consider fondly. The divots and broken bits and sinks and holes all spoke of some story that happened here. There was a large sink in the middle of the street, and when carriages would glide past, the glide was always staunched and the carriage thrown off balance, upsetting the passengers. Watching as a carriage flew past, she couldn’t help but remember a time when she was the one damaging the street, to make the carriage break, and collect a few coins. 

Shaking her head to clear the memories, she took a deep breath and refocused her eyes on her destination, King’s College. Look out Manhattan, Alexander Hamilton is coming for you. 

“Good Morning, Sir. My name is Alexander Hamilton. I was looking to enroll here in the accelerated course. Would you be able to assist me in financing this endeavor?” His tone was polite and unassuming, as his mother taught him. ‘Demure to the bursar,’ his mother had said. This way, he could enroll with his transcripts from his studies in France at the Sorbonne avec le faculté de droit de Paris.

The bursar looked him up and down from behind his opulent desk. Why on Earth the bursar would need something so extravagant was a secret Alexander would probably never be privy to, although perhaps it was simply to make the school itself, rather than the bursar, seem more elegant. The desk was large, and made of some sort of dark wood, possibly walnut, to match the walls of the room itself. There were intricate lace patterns up the legs of the desk, carefully painted and laid with gold leaf. This too matched the room they were in, whose crown molding looked to be solid wood and hand-painted. The opulence was truly infuriating, and Alexander struggled to maintain control over his expression as he waiting for the bursar to speak. 

“Not many are, how should I say it? Cut out for the accelerated course. Your previous schooling was in France, and you’re an immigrant. How well do you even speak the King’s English?” The bursar had immediately written him off, spitting, biting, and cutting Alexander down with his words. “I don’t believe you would be a good fit for this program or the school. You won’t have the funds to afford a placement at a school as prestigious as King’s College.” Looking at Alexander from over his reading glasses, the bursar smirked. “Perhaps, rather than looking to spend your obviously meagre funds here, you should look into investing in new clothes. I believe there is a tailor down the way looking for an apprentice, which might work better for an immigrant such as yourself. Mayhap you’ll even receive new clothes out of the exchange.” 

Alexander bristled, hearing his mother’s kind words in his head telling him to hold his tongue, and trying his best to follow her advice. He clenched his jaw and looked up from his hands clenched in his lap. He and his mother have purposely chosen these clothes for this venture, and though they were not the best, they would have been the only clothes he could have afforded if he wasn’t so lucky as to have found his parents. Taking the thought a bit too deeply into his heart, he thought, if he were still alone, he might have needed to forgo many meals to purchase the clothing he now wore. 

“Excuse me, Sir, how can you call me such names and look down upon me when you have neither opened the documents I have provided you nor have allowed me to speak more than a single sentence. I was led to believe this school was meant to raise minds of all types and I offer this to you, that my mind is leagues above the rest.” Alexander’s tone quickly became scathing and he watched as the bursar’s expression changed from perceived superiority to bewilderment then quickly to annoyance. “If you believe yourself to be better because the school has seen fit to have you sit on your ass behind a desk worth more than you will make in your lifetime, then you are sorely mistaken, Sir. With all due respect, Sir, I have already been enrolled here, and you will be evaluating my documents, and I will be taking the accelerated courses, and you will provide me financial aid.” Breathing deeply, Alexander attempted to breathe the tension from his frame. 

“You know nothing of my funds and you know nothing of me because you have not taken the time to do your job and read through the documents I have so kindly provided you. Perhaps that is why the university has placed you behind this desk. To keep your ineptitude hidden, because you obviously don’t understand that your job isn’t to accept or deny a student’s enrollment, but to take their documents and handle the financials. Or perhaps you are incapable of that? Perhaps I should return to the enrollment office and inform them that you are unable to assist me?” At some point during his monologue, Alexander rose from his seat, unable to restrain his indignation. His voice echoed through the cavernous ceiling of the room, and the bursar stood from his chair (which was equally as grotesque as the rest of the room) towering over Alexander’s smaller form, expression thunderous. 

Alexander was exhausted, he was exhausted and tired and just so done. He worked so hard his entire life. He struggled and fought for his chance, his shot, and he was constantly fighting against people like the bursar to get his way. Blithely, he wondered who he pissed off in a previous life, before immediately removing this thought from his mind. He could have been much worse off, he could still be a poor, immigrant orphan on the streets, playing tricks to scrounge enough money for food. Instead, he had a mother and a father and a warm bed, and he never wanted for anything. 

He didn’t have to wait long for the bursar to speak. “There is only one man who has been able to successfully work through our accelerated program, Mr. Aaron Burr.” Alexander recognized the name; it was one of the reasons he made his way here from Princeton. “A,” The bursar glanced over Alexander once more in condescension, “Creole immigrant such as yourself may have trouble understanding this, but Mr. Burr is from a good, upstanding family. His father commanded such respect, it’s a given that his son would be equally as capable.” The man shifted slightly, standing straight, squaring his shoulders, and staring down his nose at Alexander. “Why would you, a boy with a useless name, want to attend our distinguished university?” 

Alexander spoke quickly, he wasn’t about to waste his first real chance to speak, even if the question was phrased as an insult. “Sir, I want to finish my degree quickly so I can join the Revolution. This world is changing and I intend to be a part of it.” Short and succinct, following his mother’s advice. Perhaps, he hasn’t ruined his chance if the bursar is willing to listen. 

Wrong. He was so, so wrong. The bursar began laughing and all of the anger that had seemingly dissipated, surged to the forefront of Alexander’s mind and without hesitating or stopping to consider his actions, his arm raised and he punched the other man square in the middle of his face. He idly noted the feeling of the man’s nose crunching under his fist. 

The bursar wasn’t necessarily tall, just taller than Alexander who was a respectable five-foot-six, with several tens of pounds on him as well. He was not rotund, but his waistline denotes the man enjoyed an easy lifestyle. His hairline was receding, and though his hair remained an attractive dark brown, the overly large forehead greatly detracted from it. His clothing looked to be some sort of crushed velvet material in a deep blue that was quickly turning red from the blood pouring down his face. Alexander tried to inscribe every detail to his brain to write to his friend in France. He would surely be amused by the turn of events; he always liked to indulge in the feeling of schadenfreude. 

Once the shock wore out, the bursar began to rage. His eyes, which were more yellow than white, bulged, and he began to shout profanities towards the young man standing before him, one hand clutching his nose, the other waving wildly in an attempt to grab hold of the perpetrator. Alexander, however, was small and quick and had dealt with a similar situation more times than he should care to admit. Ducking skillfully under the rampaging fist, Alexander grabbed the papers he provided the bursar at the beginning of their meeting and raced for the door. The bursar followed behind, lumbering oafishly as the adrenaline wore out and he was left reeling in pain. Alexander yanked the door closed behind him and ran down the hall. 

Alexander paused to catch his breath when he figured he had enough distance between himself and the Financial Aid Office, documents clutched tightly in his hands. He hung his head and stared at his shoes, which were now a distinctly mangled mess. Oxfords, even the second-hand kind, were not meant for running. He was disappointed in himself. He and his mother had worked up the perfect plan: walk into the meeting with the bursar, charm his trousers off (metaphorically), get the scholarship, finish his degree, and join the Revolution (of course, his mother was not aware of this last item, but that was neither here nor there). He hadn’t expected the bursar to be an ignoble racist and he let it get to him much too quickly. Mother always said he was a hothead; he just hadn’t expected it to bite him back so magnanimously. 

What was he going to do now? The plan had been to get the scholarship and though his Mother and Father could easily pay for his schooling, they had already provided so much that he refused to ask for more. 

He would fix this. Alexander ran a hand through his hair and reaffixed the ribbon. He attempted to collect himself, flattening his shirt against his torso, smoothing out the lines in his trousers and coat, and lightly rubbing a scuff on his shoe in an attempt to appear more presentable. He began walking once he felt ready, and made his way out of the deserted corner he ran himself to and made the trek back to the administration office. Administration, mind. He was never going to the finance office again if he could help it. 

His shoes made a quiet  _ tap, tap, tap _ as he walked through the halls. He pushed lightly at the door and smiled kindly at the secretary that welcomed him. 

“You’re back,” the secretary noted. Mr. William Reed, as his nameplate provided, was young. Older than Alexander by a few years, but still bright-eyed, and kind. His blond hair was swept into a gentlemanly style and his eyes were wide and welcoming. “May I enquire as to why you are back?” 

“The gentleman you sent me to, he and I didn’t quite see eye-to-eye. He refused to look at my enrollment form or other qualifying documents.” Here he passed the aforementioned documents to William. “I’m not sure how to proceed, but I truly need this scholarship. Would you be able to assist me, William?” 

Let it not be said that Alexander was not a charmer for, at that moment, William received the papers back from Alexander and opened the file, placing it neatly onto his desk. He slid his chair back a touch and pulled open a drawer. “Mr. Renaud can be friendly when the mood strikes him, though that is few and far between. Especially towards one such as yourself. Let me see what I can do to help.” William reached into the drawer and pulled out what looked to be an inkwell and a stamp. He opened the inkwell and dipped his quill into it, before tapping it lightly to remove excess ink. Signing the financial aid form, the blond man looked through his lashes at Alexander, who smiled slightly, biting his lip. 

William replaced the inkwell into the drawer and pulled out a wax stub, holding it over the candle on his desk and lighting the wick, before allowing a few drops of the wax to fall on the letter. Quickly, he waved the stub to extinguish the light, placed the wax back into the drawer, and shut the drawer softly, then pressed a rubber stamp over the spot of wax. 

“There! All done. The scholarship is yours. I will deliver the paperwork to the correct people.” Alexander certainly hadn’t expected this to happen, but he would not look a gift horse in the month. 

“Thank you, sir. I truly appreciate this. I was preparing to un-enroll, but you have provided me a wonderful opportunity. I will be back at the start of term.” Beaming at William Reed, Alexander lowered his head in a semblance of a bow and turned to take his leave. Nothing would get in his way. 

“Alexander, let’s get a drink sometime. There’s a nice place down on Chambers and Broadway that the students seem to enjoy.” Peeking over his shoulder, Alexander saw the other man lean his elbow on the desk and rest his chin on his open palm. 

“Sure, Mr. Reed, it would be my pleasure. Again, thank you for all of your help.” He grinned at William and made his exit as quickly as was polite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I really write like this. I talk like this, too. You know when the professor or instructor says the essay has a minimum of pages? I write so...superfluously, that I would get a "max page" length...I can pare it down if you guys would prefer, but I figured my odd way of talking would translate well in this fandom...
> 
> History time!  
> ~Amusingly Hamilton actually started at King’s College (now Columbia) when he was 16, in 1773. The musical has this at 19, in 1776. So technically his ages are correct for the years, but when he started school is not. For the purpose of this fiction, I will continue with the age of 19, as I built my timeline off of that age.   
> ~"at the Sorbonne with the Faculty of Law of Paris” Basically, Hamilton was sent to school in Paris. At the time the major (and most renowned) school was the Sorbonne. This schools was made up of 4 (later 5) different faculties. Hamilton studied Law and economics. I realize this seems a little far-fetched, but artistic license. 


	3. Aaron Burr?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 300 hits already?? You guys are so sweet!  
> I'm too excited to share this with you guys...I've completely yeeted my planned schedule out the window! 
> 
> Oh well! Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

As she made her way off campus, Alexander heaved a deep sigh of relief. She had somehow managed to pull it off, falling into her role as she and her mother practiced. She almost blew it and really, she couldn’t believe her luck.

Her father kept a small residence here in Manhattan, which she was taking gratuitous advantage of, but her father was away for the time being, and hopefully, she could find a way to talk to some of her friends and find another place to stay while in school.

It's not that her father didn't want her to go to school. Rather, he was a huge proponent of her education and facilitated much of her lessons and schooling. It was more so that her father was extremely protective and she had just returned from France after three years. Not to mention, the growing unrest to consider. Her father was determined to keep her out of it.

She allowed her feet to walk in a direction, not much caring for the destination. She was in heaven at the moment and nothing could bring her down, except perhaps bodily walking into someone and feeling the wind leave her completely.

“Oh! Excuse me, Sir, my head is in the clouds.” She tittered for a moment, forgetting her disguise, before noting the gentleman’s discomfort at her action and righting herself. “Again, my apologies.” She briskly moved past him, head angled down and in the opposite direction of the man out of embarrassment and fear, and did her best to stay grounded. She was having a hard time today and was certainly getting some exercise in with all the running away she had done today.

Glancing about herself, she noted she was in a different part of the city than she had ventured to before. ‘Broadway,’ the street sign told her. Wasn’t there something about this street that she felt she needed to remember? She paused, contemplating the sign as she tried to remember why it was important.

A gentleman walked past her, arm brushing against her just enough to jostle her from her thoughts. She glanced at the man, expecting him to stop and say something snide, but he just continued walking, not even bothering to glance in her direction. He had his nose in a book and a sheaf of paper under one arm. As he swept past her, she happened to glance at the papers and noted his name began with a 'B-U.'

“Pardonez moi, are you Aaron Burr, Sir?” She rushed to follow him as he stopped, looked up from his book, and tilted his neck to face her.

“That depends, who’s asking?” He had a kind face, soft, and he looked like he spent much of his day alternating between smiling and stressing.

“Oh, of course. I’m Alexander Hamilton, at your service, Sir. I've been looking for you.” Her rambling certainly became obnoxious when she was nervous. She needed to get her head in the game.

“Now I’m nervous.” A confused smile made its way onto Burr’s face as he looked at the shorter person. He placed a marker in his text, closing it, and holding it to his side. He turned fully to face her.

“I, uh, I heard your name at Princeton. I was seeking an accelerated course of study and someone there mentioned that you managed to not only find but excel in the courses offered at King’s College. I was there earlier today. I may have gotten sort of out of sorts with someone I believe is an acquaintance of yours? I may have punched him, it’s a blur, Sir. He handles the financials?” Why did she just say all of that? What was going on with her brain? The stress of her life must be catching up to her.

“You punched the bursar?” Burr was bewildered by her, both his tone and expression conveyed this. She snapped her fingers in confirmation and rushed to explain, the words spilling from her hastily.

“Yes. I wanted to do what you did. That is, graduate in two years, then join the Revolution. The bursar looked at me like I was stupid, talked to me like I was stupid, treated me like I was stupid, I’m not stupid. I got him to agree, eventually, but how’d you do it? How’d you graduate so fast?”

“It was my parent’s dying wish to see me graduate, so that’s what I did.” He’s an orphan?

“You’re an orphan? Of course! I’m an orphan.” She sounded much too excited about that, but her mouth was running and she couldn’t keep it closed. It felt like she found a kindred spirit, someone like her who understood her circumstances. “Sometimes I wish there was a war then we could prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for…”

“Can I offer you a drink?”

“That would be nice. Thank you.” They began walking south along Broadway. This would be a good time for her to get back into the right mindset. She couldn’t let her secret out now; it would ruin everything. She heaved a deep breath and smiled winningly at Burr as they made their way down the street.

“While we’re talking let me offer you some free advice.” Burr slung an arm over Alexander’s shoulder and began to talk, “Talk less.”

Alexander, baffled by this so-called advice, released an uncouth “Huh?” at this statement.

“Smile more.” Burr’s smile seemed to only grow in size. Mystified at the turn in events, Alexander let out a confused huff of laughter. When they entered the bar, Alexander noted it was the same place the secretary, William Reed, mentioned to him earlier that day. There were quite a few people in the bar already, but most seemed to be students, as Mr. Reed previously stated, and seemed content to imbibe quietly. Burr began to speak again, “Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for.”

“You can’t be serious.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Did Burr expect him to just wait for things to happen? There was no point to life if you simply allowed it to flow around you.

“You want to get ahead?”

“Yes.” He noted a small group at a table a little way away was beginning to get loud, rowdy, as the case may be.

“Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead.” The small group (Alexander was quickly becoming distracted away from Mr. Burr) started to sing quite loudly. Alexander smiled as one of the young men started shouting ‘Showtime!’ in an upbeat excited manner. These were people he wanted to associate with: upstarts, rowdy, and excitable. People who seemed ready, able, and willing to speak their mind.

“Like I said,” Burr spoke up again, and Alexander glanced over at him. What was he trying to say? It seemed that he was indicating these men to be fools, but that would be quite rude. Alexander glanced away again, looking back towards the three raucous men. They looked to be having a grand time, enjoying their drinks and each other. He noted some of the things they were saying, as he mentally drifted away from his conversation with Burr.

One of the men sounded French, and if that didn’t excite Alexander, then nothing would.

“Well, well, well, Aaron Burr! The prodigy of Princeton College! Come sit with us, share some of that college-bred knowledge!” They were pulling Burr into the conversation. Interesting. What could these riveting men, these Revolutionaries, possibly want to hear from someone as bland as Burr?

“Ha, good luck with that gentlemen. You talk of Revolution and making a change with your bold statements and loud assertions, you’re taking a stand, but I’ll sit here, and we’ll see what happens.” Of course, that was almost exactly what Alexander expected to hear.

“The Revolution is here, Burr, why do you maintain such neutrality? What are you stalling for?”

“If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?” Alexander had had about enough of Burr’s uncaring speech and needed to speak up. People need to decide what they want and go for it. The world would not stop and it would not wait and it does not provide handouts. The fact that Burr was content on the sidelines waiting for something to happen to him, for him, peeved Alexander to no end, and he refused to stay silent. His mother would probably reprimand him later for making enemies (of a sort) when he should be making friends.

“Who are you?” The Revolutionaries had veritably surrounded him, having migrated to where Burr and Alexander were seated. Now Alexander was mildly nervous. No time like the present, he supposed. He usually allowed his mouth to form words before truly thinking them through, and this time was no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone cares, here are their ages, and my reasoning behind it.
> 
> The year is 1776 
> 
> Alexander was born 1757, he is 19   
> Lafayette was also born in 1757, so 19   
> Laurens was born 1754, making him 22   
> Hercules was born in 1740, quite a bit older at 36 
> 
> In 1774 Hercules actually opened his own tailor “emporium,” so this would suggest that he was no longer an apprentice by this time. Which would have taken about 2-6 ish years. I'm gonna let it be a nice round 4 years, cause averages.
> 
> Other things to consider is that he also graduated from King’s and worked as a bookie for his father’s accounting firm. So math – 
> 
> 36 minus the two years as not an apprentice = 34 
> 
> Assuming his apprenticeship was 4 years, and the fact that he was an apprentice during the musical, I'd say he's somewhere between 30 and 34. 
> 
> In the production he also says “I got y’all knuckleheads in loco parentis” which is latin for “in place of parents.” So, I think, if I’m understanding this right, he understands he’s the oldest of the four of them and takes that responsibility as well. At least that's what my research into "in loco parentis" came up with. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Who are you?

Feeling nervous and perhaps a little delirious, stars in his eyes as he stared at the men in front of him, he explained himself. “I’m Alexander Hamilton. I’ve got a scholarship to King’s College, accelerated course, like Mr. Burr. I plan on joining the Revolution once I’ve completed my schooling.” He tripped over his words a few times, stumbling to keep his accent hidden. They may be trying to make a change, but a change in the country does not necessarily mean a change in the people, and he’d already dealt with one blatant racist today. He would not set himself up for more.

The three looked intrigued at his words, giving Alexander the confidence to continue.

“I don’t mean to brag but I've been told by many that my writing is amazing and leaves them astonished. My main problem is that I have a lot of brains, but it's unrefined. I need to holler just to get the time of day and be heard. I’m like a diamond in the rough or a shiny piece of coal. My power of speech is unimpeachable. I’m nineteen, but my mind is much older. While these city streets get colder, I’ll continue to shoulder every burden, every disadvantage that comes my way - I’ve learned to manage my own hardships. The plan is to fan the spark into a flame. We are meant to be a colony,” He was getting passionate now. 

He grew up hearing his father talk like this, and the seeds of Revolution had already started growing in France by the time he started school there. It really only took a small push to make him a full-blown Revolutionary. He was surrounded by people looking to make a change almost from the moment he turned 12. How could he not follow in their footsteps.

“We are meant to be a colony,” he repeated, “That runs independently. But Britain, ha! Britain keeps shitting on us endlessly, they tax everything! They tax glass, paper, stamps, even our tea for goodness sake, citing such things as war debts and all without allowing us proper representation in parliament! Then King George, Farmer George, turns around and goes on a spending spree. It’s infuriating and demeaning in every sense of the word. He won’t let us be, and unless we force the change things will always be the same. I intend to stand up and fight, and I intend to make the difference. There will be a Revolution in this century if I have anything to say about it.” Alexander heaved a great breath, filling his lungs before releasing the air, then repeated the action.

“I would lay down my life if it would set us free.” His voice trailed off, and he realized that at some time during his passionate speech he and the three had migrated to the original table the others had been sitting at. Burr seemed to have blurred into the background and Alexander didn’t bother to look for him. 

It was the Frenchman who spoke first. 

“Bonjour. Je m'appelle Lafayette.” The tall man, Lafayette spoke, and introduced himself with a flourish. Standing, his elbows bent, palms face-up, he tilted his head forward a bit in a semblance of a bow. “Èvidemment, je vien du France. I am here to, how you say, make a name for myself. I dream of life without the monarchy, France is, uh, quel est le mot? There is unrest and that will lead to, uh—Anarchy!” Alexander knew exactly what Lafayette spoke of, he had, after all, attended school in Paris for three years. He watched as tensions rose, the monarchy made a mockery of itself, and the financial situation in that county was simply atrocious.

“Bonjour, Monsieur. I actually attended school in Paris for a few years. I understand completely what you speak of.” The smile Alexander received was blinding. He studied economics after all, and he witnessed first-hand the poor financial structure in France. It was a wonderful example of a horrible system.

“Non! Vraimment? C’est super! I have been in the French militaire since I was 13. I came here to aid in the Revolution, learn things and grow as a stratège, so I can free my home from the cruel hands of the idiot King.” The man bounced on his heels in excitement, babbling about how nice it was to have someone who was familiar with his beloved country, how there was someone refined enough to actually talk to him. Alexander responded in kind, smiling at the tall man's exuberance. After several minutes of rapid-fire French, Lafayette paused, as if he had just remembered the other two of their party. He motioned towards the other two at the table, "Mes amis, John Laurens et Hercules Mulligan.”

Alexander considered these new characters. Both of them had glazed over expressions, the expression of someone involved in a conversation they could not understand. It's the same face he makes whenever his mother tries to teach him needlepoint, or when he first arrived in the colonies and barely spoke a lick of English. After a moment, when they realized they had been finally introduced, their eyes cleared from their French-induced stupor.

“John Laurens, nice to meet you.” The man, John, smiled brightly at Alexander, cheeks flushed from the drink. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” They shook hands, John shaking his hand much more vigorously than what was considered polite.

“Out of curiosity,” Alexander began, “What is it you all do? Or are you Revolutionaries by night and by day?” All three laughed loudly, as if Alexander had made the most splendid joke they had ever heard. Alexander did not consider the phrase particularly witty, but reminded himself that his new companions had been drinking.

“Haaa,” John sighed through the end of his laughter, “Lafayette is a Marquis in France; he doesn’t need to work.” Alexander snickered lightly at Lafayette’s affronted gasp and overly animated reaction. “My father is a member of the colonial assembly, who, by the way, thinks I'm still studying in London, so let’s keep this,” he gestured vaguely around himself, “a secret. And he’s an apprentice tailor. Hercules that is.”

“And a damn good one! Ha! I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve needed to repair clothing for these knuckleheads!” He made a motion over his shoulder at the last two of their party. “I like my work; it’s satisfying to see a piece of clothing made to perfectly fit a person. I just wish I wasn’t apprenticed to a man whose sole source of income is tailoring for those damn Red Coats!” His fist gripped strongly around his pint as he roughly slammed the mug to the table. A loud, hollow noise followed his action, startling several of the other patrons.

The four continued to talk, Hamilton sitting on one side of the table, Hercules and Laurens, next to him and across from each other, and the Marquis alternating between sitting, standing, and bouncing as the conversation moved from topic to topic. The talked for what felt like hours, about everything. Lafayette told them about his previous military experience (he was actually a commissioned officer in France) and what he thought the best strategy would be to fight the British. Hercules regaled them with stories of his exploits, women (and some men if the meaningful look he directed to Lafayette and Laurens), and how lucrative being a tailor actually is. Laurens eventually spoke up, explaining his purpose quietly. 

“My father sent me and my two younger brothers to Europe for school, but we were born in the colonies. South Carolina, to be more specific. He has slaves and treats them terribly. I truly don’t understand how anyone could justify owning a person! I argued with him almost constantly about it before he sent me away. I don’t think the colonies can ever consider themselves free until everyone in the colonies is free, including those in forced servitude.” His volume seemed to increase with every word he spoke, lending to the passion he felt on this topic. “I have a plan for that. I went to law school; I know how to write.” Laurence was staring into his mug as if it held all of the answers he needed. His tone betrayed his determination, his volume betrayed his fear. “I want everyone to have the same rights. No one deserves to be treated as less than human. No one.” 

Alexander remained silent, mostly. In awe of the men he shared a table with. Each of them had something to prove, something to do, something they cherished. It was humbling to sit at this table with these three rebels. Alexander was ruined. He had had a plan, but it seemed, with the introduction of the men into his life, maybe he needed a new plan.   
  
The table remained silent for a beat or two more, Lafayette having finally settled into his seat while Laurens spoke. The silence was contemplative, each person considering the other, their dreams and ideals, their goals. The silence was sacred. 

The silence was broken by one Aaron Burr. When he realized he had lost the attention of his new companion, Aaron settled into one of the armchairs that littered the establishment for student use. He flicked through several pages, attempting to drown out the chatter that floated over to him from the other side of the tavern. He had been completely disturbed from his reading when Hercules slammed his mug to the table. 

With a deep, put-upon sign, Aaron placed the marker into its new location, and closed the book. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if attempting to ward away negative thoughts, or an impending headache. As he stood, he allowed a smile to break across his face, though he knew from experience that the smile did not reach any further than that. 

He approached the table, noticing how quiet they seemed to be. 

“Gentlemen,” he began, “lower your voices. Though we may share several of the same sentiments, there are many who don’t. If you are able to keep out of trouble you may be able to do something yet. The situation is indeed dire, but you need to speak carefully. If the wrong person hears you, everything will be over.” Alexander’s hackles were immediately raised. This wallflower of a man seemed unable to claim any opinions and it was driving him mad. 

“Hang on, Sir.” Alexander stood abruptly, his chair screeching as it was roughly shoved back. He angrily slammed his hands on the table in front of him, shoulder hunched, expression livid as he stared Burr down. "Look at us, actually look at the people at this table. We've got Monseiur Lafayette, who is basically our very own Lancelot. We have Hercules with his hot pants and talented hand, and Laurens, who has a goal that will keep us rushing forward." He gestured to each man in turn, and each one preened under his words of praise. 

Alexander straightened up, smoothing his coat down. "You know what, my friends. Let's do something." His expression changed from one of righteous fury to something seemingly diabolical as his gaze moved from Burr to his new friends. "We must have been placed here, in this city, on this day, for a reason. Why else would we be meeting like this if not to make a change. A bunch of Revolutionary, manumission, abolitionists? Just give me a position and show me where the ammunition is!" 

All four gentlemen stared at him, eyes wide. Alexander couldn't decide whether their gazes were disbelief, annoyance, fear, or something more like awe and pride. Self consciously, he raised a hand to push his hair back, hand stopping on the back of his neck, rubbing tensely at the skin their. 

His long hair was pulled back into his ribbon. Keeping it tied was part of his costume, but he couldn't help but feel the intense need to pull his hair down and allow it to curtain in front of his face, to hide his embarrassment. He allowed his hand to return to its brother.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, hands pressed tightly together, one thumb massaging ove the other. "Sometimes I get over excited and start talking without really thinking it through. I've certainly gotten my fair share of retribution for that. I've never had friends like you all before, I promise to be someone you can rely on and trust. I promise to make you all proud." He trailed off at the end, resolutely refusing to look up at his companions, lest he be forced to watch them walk away from him. 

Who would want to be friends with a bastard, orphan, son of a whore, who couldn't even keep his temper in polite company? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why all of my chapters end with an introspective question...
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Let me know your thoughts!


	5. Dear Thomas (Letter One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this written for about a week now, and just spent WAY too long editing it...let me know what you think!

It’s possible she toasted a touch too much and imbibed a touch too much, but she had fun. Fun and excitement were rare nowadays. The adrenaline of the night breathed through her bones, heady and thick. The feeling wound through her body like a snake, tightening its hold until she finally took action. She was excited to find others with similar opinions. It didn’t hurt that they easily included Alexander within their group. A person only had one shot at life, and she would make the best of her shot.

Alexander stumbled as she attempted to navigate the stairs leading to her Father’s apartment. She paused at the bottom of the stairs. There were five steps between her and the front door, and she glared at the steps as if they offended her personally. Carefully gripping the railing, she pulled herself up the steps, and veritably fell into the barrier between her and the warming comfort the home promised. The girl rested against the door for a moment, breathing heavily as if she’d just climbed a mountain instead of five measly steps. Still leaning on the front entry, she blindly reached for the doorknob, grasping it after a second or two more. With great care towards her footing to keep her stability, she crossed the threshold. Sounds of drunken singing carried through the air as the door shut behind her.

Still maintaining a rigid hold on her balance, Alexander reached down, unbuttoned her shoes, and slipped them off her feet. After placing her hat on the stand beside the door, she began walking through the hall towards her bedroom. Propriety forgotten (she was alone in the house, after all), she stripped her garments as she walked. The great coat fell to the ground first, just inside the foyer, soon followed by the inner coat, cravat, and belt. The waistcoat was next, dropped as she turned to enter the hallway that led to her room. She unbuttoned her trousers as she breezed into her room, allowing them to fall to the floor before stepping away.

Stripped to her undergarments, it was easy to notice her feminine shape. Alexander stared at her reflection in the mirror, thankful for the many layers of men’s clothing. She moved from her position in front of the mirror and padded across the room to her armchair. Her Mother suggested placing the chair in here, to allow Alexander to read or write to her heart's content. Perched on the edge of the chair, movements elegant and dainty despite her current state of inebriation, she began removing the garters around her socks. Alexander paused briefly before removing her socks. Her mind was still swimming from intoxication. At last free of her day clothes, she stood and approached the armoire where she traded the undershirt for nightclothes.

Comfortably clothed in her lavender colored night-gown, Alexander entered her Father’s study, a fresh candle in hand. After placing the candle atop the desk, she relaxed into her Father’s chair. This room was one of Alexander’s favorites. It was spacious, similar in size to the study at home in Virginia, but that was where the similarities stopped. This was most likely a result of her Mother. Mother had a large part in designing the study at home. Whenever there was work to be done inside the house, Mother managed the workers as they plastered, painted, and prepared the room.

The walls were two-tone: the lower half of the wall, a dark wood paneling, and a deep wine-red colored the rest of the wall. Two large windows on the east wall overlooked a charming field, though heavy curtains (likewise red, embroidered with golden embellishments) blocked the view. There was an elegant bookshelf built into the wall behind the desk. Books of various types filled the shelves: law, geography, math, physics, French, English, grammar, a storybook or two, and more. Whenever she could, she had poured over these books, devouring one after another. One book in particular, spine worn and well-used, stuck out to her. She had flipped through that book incessantly as a child, showing her mother where her island was on the map and regaling her with stories of Nevis. Or rather, Alexander shared the few happy memories she had from her childhood, before her father left or her mother died.

Seated at her Father’s desk, facing the bookshelf, Alexander fondly thought of the many nights she spent here. Most nights, the small family would pass the evening listening to the patriarch read a novel. There were other nights where it was just her and her Mother, while her Father was working with the colonial assembly. Alexander recalled her Mother penning something into a notebook or writing a letter while seated at the desk. Little Lexi would sit or lay on the floor beside the desk, filling page after page with notes and interesting facts. Her parents had purchased a small shelf for her to store her notebooks. Both her Father and Mother encouraged her whims and provided her with whatever resources she might have needed. They were indeed very indulgent.

Smiling sweetly in remembrance, Alexander turned the chair to face the desk. Gently grasping one of the many quills in the pot, she dipped it into the inkwell beside it and began writing.

_Dear Thomas,_

_It has been quite an experience since our last letter. I never did well with travel by sea and I laid ill for most of the trip home plus a few more days to recover my so-called land-legs. Virginia is as wonderful as ever, and the tranquility helped my recovery. I have missed Mount Vernon dearly, and I am glad to be home. Paris is wonderful, and I enjoyed my time there, but I am happy to be home. When do you intend to return to the colonies?_

_Mother and Father are well. With the call for Revolution picking up traction, Father has been absent more often than not. He is working closely with the Continental Congress; so his absence makes sense. I am not entirely sure what he plans to do, but Mother has spent most nights worried over father, and I fear for her health._

_If you recall, I have finished my studies at the Sorbonne and returned home to continue my schooling. Despite the unrest, I have convinced Mother to allow me to travel to Manhattan for schooling. Father doesn’t know, and I doubt he would accept it if he did. Nevertheless, I have somehow managed, even with all of my abrasiveness, to not only enroll at King’s College but receive the scholarship as well. I am aware that you wouldn’t need a scholarship, but this was very important for me._

_There were a few hiccups, unfortunately. The bursar was wholly against aiding me in any way and made many inelegant arguments against me. He treated me as if I were less than the dirt under his shoe, and I could not reign in my temper. Do you recall the stories I shared of my admittedly explosive temper? This was another similar case. Yes, my dear friend, I punched the bursar straight in the nose. It was truly disturbing, I must say. The way the cartilage crunched under my hand was unpleasant, and the volume of blood he spilled across his clothing was utterly obscene._

_How is France faring? Are the people still restless? I fear the conditions in France reflect the conditions here in the colonies, and the conditions here are a massive cause for concern. There are British soldiers on every corner, each ready with a bayonet. The taxation is getting worse, and now the British are enforcing a quartering law. From what I have seen, the colonials are spitting fire, looking for a fight around every corner. Have you heard what happened in Boston? The tensions are only escalating, Thomas, and I fear the climax is coming._

_I met a few gentlemen earlier this very night, Revolutionaries. Perhaps it’s harder to find someone that is not at this point. I was considerably worried when I began speaking to them. As I previously mentioned, I tend to struggle with holding my tongue. This time was no different. I spoke out of turn and I feared I had at once alienated myself. I am positive you are laughing at my embarrassment at this very moment. My embarrassment during this conversation was akin to the embarrassment that bled across every letter of the first note I wrote to you. Do you remember that letter? I still cringe at the awkwardness. (Which you must have found mildly endearing, considering our continuing communications.)_

_I digress, I did not alienate myself. Instead, our small group of four turned into a crowd. The people were listening to me and my thoughts. I am afraid though, Thomas. What will happen if we win our Independence? Is Independence a guarantee of Freedom for our descendants? Will we only begin an endless cycle of death and vengeance?_

_Regardless, I intend to join the fight. I am scared, of course. Terrified, honestly. But I need to do my part in fighting for our Freedom. My Father has said that he is working to make sure I won’t need to fight, but I refuse to wait on the sidelines when I can contribute. I will contribute. Even if I die, even if I never see our country as truly ours, I will fight. And, dear Thomas, I believe I may have found kindred spirits. The Revolutionaries I mentioned before are kindred spirits. Their opinions are akin to yours and mine when it comes to this country of ours._

_For all my fear, I must say the action is exciting. To be a part of something bigger, larger, grander than myself is an exhilarating thought. Between the moments of excitement, though, I have been trying to understand how to fix our country. France has destroyed itself financially, and that is where our salvation is: learning from the mistakes of others. We must handle the financial situation in our nation._

_We toasted to Freedom tonight. Freedom as an ideal, as something that someone can neither purchase, steal, nor taken away, no matter what the British say. I hope you too shall toast Freedom once you read this letter._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Alexandria Washington_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When going to France, Alex was enrolled under the name “Alexander Hamilton” The students are assigned a mentor of sorts. Someone with whom they may pen if they so desire. Alex, as a student from the colonies, was assigned to one of the 2 colony-people in France at the time. These letters were not monitored by the school and it was entirely up to the student whether to write their mentor or not.
> 
> Or at least, that's how I explain the letter! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Strong Women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is longer than my other chapters. I couldn't find a place to break it up that would make sense without dragging the story, so you end up with many pages of writing! 
> 
> Initially I had a lot of trouble with this chapter. However, as is typical, as soon as I had something else to write (application essay for grad school), the thoughts became free flowing. 
> 
> I never really understood when writers said the character hijacked the story but now...also Ben is the best! He's such a character <3
> 
> I'm not super great with dialogue, so please let me know what you think!

Alexandria had five weeks until her schooling began, and she spent them in a flurry, feeling as if she ran to every corner of Manhattan to prepare. She spent several days searching virtually every bookstore in the city for the texts she needed, along with notebooks, quills, and ink. An entire afternoon was lost at the postmasters. The only intention was to send her letters (one for Thomas, two for her Mother) and retrieve a package her Mother had sent. Instead, Alexandria spent the day drinking tea and debating with a kindly gentleman named Ben. He only released her from their discourse when she promised to return the following week. This past week, Alexandria was on a mission to fill her trunk with men’s clothing. Her Mother insisted upon funding the endeavor, but the girl refused, instead searching bargain bins and second-hand stores. She did this as herself, not Alexander (although he was likewise herself).

Alexandria’s arms, filled with her purchases (books, books, a quill, and more books), were tiring. She went to sleep late last night, engrossed in her new political theory text. Her eyelids became heavy as she shuffled home. Moments later, Alexandria was sprawled on the floor, her shopping scattered around her.

“Oh, my goodness! I am so sorry!” A hand entered her field of view. Alexandria, still dazed from the shock of falling, grasped the hand and hauled herself off the ground. As she stood, she brushed the dirt from her skirts. “Are you okay? I am sorry about that. My sisters, you see. They ran off ahead of me and I was trying to catch up to them. I turned the corner and wham! You were there, and I trampled you. I’m super sorry.” The voice was chipper and excitable, even though it sounded apologetic.

Still reeling from the fall, but never one to forget her manners, Alexandria replied, “I’m fine, no worries, just a little bumped. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine! Oh, here, let me help you!” The other girl bent to help collect the dropped items. As she handed the last book over, she gasped, eyes wide and startled. “Lexi?”

Rapidly blinking to clean the sleep from her mind, Alexandria finally looked the other girl in the eye. “Gi-Gi?”

“Lexi! It is you! I missed you so much. What are you doing here? Oh, that’s a frivolous question, you’re shopping, obviously.” Gi-Gi, or Peggy, was a friend from her time at the preparatory school in Elizabethtown. She was a few months younger than Alexandria, but her best friend throughout school. Lexi had written to Peggy a few times while in France, but the other girl did not enjoy writing, much preferring sharing tea. Alexandria stopped sending letters when she received no response.

Peggy, ever impulsive, pounced on Alexandria. She pulled Lexi into a hug despite the many books in Lexi’s arms. Lexi, startled by the leech attached to her, dropped the books again. Lexi and Peggy were nearly the same height, and Peggy’s massive head of curls filled Lexi’s vision before the other pulled away. Free from the hug, Alexandria bent to the ground to pick up her books again.

“What are you doing here Gi-Gi?”

“Ugh, my sisters wanted to come into the city. I thought we were going to the Tea Shoppe or something, but they’ve run away from me. I was chasing after them when I knocked into you.”

“Hmm, that makes sense then. Those two were always getting into mischief. Remember the first time?” The two girls began walking in the original direction that Alexandria had been headed.

“I can never forget! Father was infuriated, I thought I’d never be able to sit on a chair properly again! Yet they never learned.”

“They probably never will, Angie and Liza are precocious like that.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to use the word precocious,” Peggy air-quoted the word, “for persons that are older than you Lex.” Sharing a look, the two girls laughed.

“The two of them literally ran away from you, to most likely do something they should definitely not be doing.”

Angie, Liza, and Peggy Schuyler attended Elizabethtown girls’ prep for several years before Alexandria even arrived in the colonies. The instructors were intimately familiar with the sisters’ schemes. They had not expected the two older girls to pull the newest student into their machinations. Lexi was oblivious to these games when she first met the other girls. To make friends (as per her Father’s request), Lexi agreed to Angelica and Elizabeth’s plans. She followed their instructions to the letter, as if reading from a script practiced for years.

That first time, Angelica convinced her to join them, although she neglected to tell Alexandria what the plan was. As it turns out, they skipped school for the day and headed into town. Peggy had been reluctant, as she usually is, and only joined along because Alexandria did. The girls had fun, but Monsieur Barber had reported them missing. Their parents were informed. When the girls returned to the school come sundown, the Headmaster had castigated them. The pain of the lashings they received weren’t what hurt her the most, however. The disappointed stares of her new Mother and Father cut her deep. Both had red-rimmed eyes, as if they had been crying profusely.

When they arrived home, George sat heavily on a dining chair and held his head in his hands. Lexi remembered thinking this must be the final straw; George and Martha would get rid of her. They didn’t, but little Lexi carried the fear into adulthood. Even at nineteen, she was still averse to disappointing her parents.

Every subsequent plan proposed by Angelica the other girls met with standard reactions. Elizabeth would agree easily. Peggy would argue, afraid of being reprimanded if caught (they were usually caught). Alexandria would refuse before hearing the plan. Angelica expected Lexi, with her volatility and quick-tongue, to jump head-first into her plans, but after the first time, Lexi would never again be tricked into following Angelica’s machinations. 

“… Where are we going?” Alexandria tuned back into the conversation, having allowed her mind to drift while Peggy was talking.

“Home. Or, well, my Father’s apartment. I’ve been staying there until I,” Lexi stumbled over her words briefly, catching herself, “while I’m in town.” Alexandria hoped Pegs wouldn’t notice the slip.

“Oh? Why are you in town?” She hadn’t noticed, thankfully, but Lexi needed to tread carefully with this conversation. Change the topic.

“I returned from France close to a month ago. Mother said I was too listless at home and insisted I come into the city.”

“So you traveled two hundred and fifty miles to Manhattan? We live Uptown, so it’s not too hard for us to come here, but you’re all the way in Virginia! Why not go to Baltimore, or Philadelphia?”

“My Father doesn’t have an apartment in Baltimore or Philadelphia, Peggy.” Hopefully, the line of questioning would cease and they could move onto other topics.

The fluffy-haired girl laughed. “That makes sense! I thought Congress Hall in Philadelphia was a place where the members of the Continental Congress can stay. You aren’t a part of the Congress though, so you wouldn’t be allowed without your Father.” Alexandria watched on, bemused, as Peggy rationalized to herself. “Congress is now in session, so Mr. Washington should be in attendance. Are you avoiding your Father for a reason?” Alexandria froze, desperately trying to come up with an answer.

“Not avoiding, per se, more like I just needed time to myself. I was on my own in Paris, and my parents have been a little overbearing since I returned.” Peggy nodded solemnly, accepting the answer.

“Just like my sisters! I love them, but sometimes I feel like I’m the oldest sibling. I’m always chasing after them and coming up with excuses for them. You’re lucky, your parents will let you go out on your own. Daddy doesn’t want us to go out, and Eliza and Angelica take it as a challenge! They’re planning a trip Downtown tomorrow. I don’t want to go, but I know if I don’t Eliza will probably elope with someone, Angelica will cause a riot or something, and it will hurt Daddy.”

“Maybe,” Peggy hummed, “you could come with us! Daddy would love to see you. Come Uptown with me, stay the night, and join us on our excursion tomorrow. It would bring my Angelica and Eliza home before sundown tonight at least!”

Alexandria nodded along, not particularly listening. They turned the corner onto her street, and not a moment too soon: the books were getting heavier. Peggy’s rambling continued as Lexi climbed the stairs to the front door. She held her parcel tight to her chest with one arm and turned the doorknob. Returning her hand to the items in her arms, she shouldered the door open, stepping through, Peggy at her heels.

“I can’t believe you’ll come. I’m so excited! This will be great.” Finally having set the books on the table, Alexandria turned to Peggy, head tilted in question.

“I will come where?”

“To my house! To have dinner with me, Daddy, Angie, and Eliza. Then you’ll come with us tomorrow to go shopping.” When had she agreed to that?

“I’m not sure if that’s a great idea, Pegs. It’s been too long since I’ve seen any of them, and I’ve had a long day, and I know I will be terrible company.” Alexandria’s mind was full of excuses and she rushed to say them all at once. “Doubtless, I will fall asleep in my soup!”

“Then we won’t have soup. Lexi, you have to come! You said you would.” Peggy implored, her eyes growing wide. Alexandria was determined to ignore the pleading eyes.

“Fine.” Peggy cheered.

“Yay! Okay, go change, then we’ll go wait for the carriage!”

* * *

Eliza and Angelica were surprised to see Alexandria when they entered the carriage. They were surprised, a little miffed, excited. The four ladies spent the carriage ride to the Schuyler estate discussing insignificant things: boys, weather, fashion trends. Never once did Alexandria bring up the Revolution despite her constant yearning to talk about it.

Once the carriage fully stopped, the girls clambered out, making their way to the dining room. Mister Schuyler had been informed of their arrival and met them for dinner.

“Daddy! Look who I bumped into!” Peggy dragged Alexandria along behind her. “Lexi’s back from France!”

“Miss Washington, lovely to see you again. Your father mentioned you were home, but he didn't inform me you were in the city. Where are you staying?”

“My Father keeps a residence in Manhattan for when the Congress meets here. Mother has given me permission to stay there for a short while.” The Schuyler patriarch opened his mouth to ask another question, but paused for the maid to announce dinner was ready. As soon as she spoke, the kitchen staff flooded the room, laying plate upon plate on the table.

Mr. Schuyler swept his arm out graciously, “Please have a seat.” The four girls seated themselves: to the right of the patriarch sat Angelica and Eliza, Peggy, and Alexandria on the left. Once the girls had taken their seats, Philip Schuyler took his seat, and they began eating.

“Tell me, why were you in France?” The gentleman queried.

“For school, Sir.”

“School? I wasn’t aware there were girls’ schools in France.”

“There aren’t, Mr. Schuyler. I stayed with a family in Paris. The matriarch is a friend of my Mother. I was lucky too. Her husband was part of the faculty at the Sorbonne, and they kindly granted me access to the libraries there.” The man nodded, accepting the story at face value. As they say, the best lie has a grain of the truth.

The dinner continued, filled with idle chatter. Soon, they finished their meal and retired to the sister’s quarters. The girls pulled the pillows and blankets from both Eliza and Peggy’s rooms and created a cushioned nest on the floor at the foot of Angelica’s bed. The sisters changed into their nightclothes before lounging on the floor. Alexandria stood to the side, perusing the bookshelf Angelica kept in her room. There were the typical fiction novels, and experience works, but cleverly hidden among these books were essays and literature of a much more controversial nature.

“Your Father, he let’s you read these things?” Alexandria held Thomas Payne’s _Common Sense_ in her hand.

“He doesn’t really have a choice. Especially after everything.” The oldest sister trailed off, eyes growing dim. Alexandria placed the essay back on the shelf, then turned to face Angelica, her head tilted questioningly. Elizabeth spoke up, clarifying Angelica’s statement.

“Angelica is betrothed. He’s a nice enough man, Mr. Church. Angie’s just peeved that she didn’t get to decide for herself.”

“He’s a nice man, and he comes from wealth. I will want for nothing. It is my duty as the eldest sister to marry well, so my younger sister’s may also have a life of comfort no matter whom they marry. I will learn to love him.” Angelica spoke monotonously, as if she were reciting from a memorandum.

Elizabeth spoke up again, grasping at her sister’s hand. “I’m eternally grateful for you, Angelica. I could not marry someone I did not know.” Angelica and Eliza shared a wordless conversation. Alexanderia glanced between the two, unsure how to respond.

“You’re an only child, right, Lexi?” Sweet, sweet Peggy spoke up, keeping hold of the conversation.

“Uh, no. But Jacky, my elder brother, is married already. Mother and Father have not felt the need to pursue arranging a marriage for me.” Jacky, or John Custis, was her Mother’s son from her first marriage. Technically, Alexandria has four siblings, but two had died before her Mother had ever met her Father, and the third, Patsy, had died just before Lexi traveled to France. There was no love lost between Jacky and Lexi, being the oldest and youngest in the family respectively, and one adopted at that.

“Angelica?” Alexandria questioned quietly. “When are you to be married?”

“Two weeks. Then we sail for London.”

“London? Why?”

“Mr. Church has family in London, and is looking to be elected for Parliament, like his father before him.”

“British Parliament? Angelica, what about the Revolution?” Alexandria waited, holding her breath. She had not meant to bring up the Revolution.

Angelica bristled, tone vehement when she next spoke. “What do you want from me Lexi? Yes, I agree with _Common Sense_ and all those men that put their thoughts forward. But I am a woman. Do you expect me to dress as a man and fight in the war? I cannot do that! Not when my Father has no sons, and it’s my job to climb the social ladder. No, I will enter a loveless marriage with a man who cares none for the colonies and would prefer to see them burn. A man who owns a thousand slaves when I’ve convinced my father to free his own. A man whose theology is at a distinct juxtaposition from mine own.”

Alexandria felt fire enter her veins. This woman, this strong, magnificent, opinionated woman, was giving up without ever taking a chance. “Why not dress as a man? Why not run away? You sound like you’re giving up, Angelica!” Lexi’s tone was harsh and judgemental. “If the Revolution is something you really, truly care for, you would fight with all your heart. Duty is one thing, but is it duty to self or to the country you feel? Are you doing as your father says because it’s what you want, or because it’s the less dangerous choice? A strong woman is one who feels deeply and loves fiercely. Her tears flow as abundantly as her laughter. A strong woman is both soft and powerful, she is both practical and spiritual. A strong woman’s essence and being is a gift to humanity. We can do things that men cannot! Things my Mother does! She writes constantly, stays up late drafting letters to diplomats and speeches for my Father. She cries and frets and worries endlessly, but she also works hard with equal intensity. I have written pamphlets under a pseudonym. May I cannot fight as a woman, but I will not let the Revolution die because I was too afraid to make a stand. Is that what you are, Angelica? Are you afraid?”

Alexandria breathed heavily, at once regretting her words when she saw the look on Angelica’s face. “Ang, I’m so-”

“If you say sorry, I’ll punch you in the nose.” Lexi clamped her mouth shut. “You’re right. I am afraid. Maybe I can’t do what you’re proposing, but I can still try. I gave up trying as soon as Father betrothed me.” Peggy roughly pulled both girls into her arms and held them tight, Eliza joining a moment later. They sat in a huddled hug for a moment or two longer before separating.

Peggy, somehow the sensible one, struck up another conversation, which the other three gladly welcomed. They drifted off to sleep one by one, as the night grew dark.

* * *

“Why are we here again?”

“Peggy, you didn’t have to come.”

“Oh, sure, because I had a choice! I couldn’t leave poor Lexi alone with you two!”

Alexandria watched as the sisters bickered. After last night’s discourse, she was reluctant to speak her opinion. She would have preferred to escape to her home and the company of her books in the study.

“Isn’t that right, Lexi?” Lexi startled at being addressed directly, having lost interest in the argument. Alexandria glanced between the girls and shrugged, helpless. She was already here, in a ridiculous petticoat Angelica and Elizabeth threatened her into wearing. There was no point in fighting it anymore.

“I’m not sure I particularly care anymore. Sorry, Peggy. I mean, based on where the carriage left us, I’d have to walk through Downtown to get home, regardless.” She didn’t fancy walking through Downtown to get home, especially not in this dress. It was a lovely dress, generally. Her main issue is that she had not worn a dress or a corset since before her schooling in France. It was overwhelming.  
  
The dress was a flattering green that complemented her skin’s olive tone. The sleeves ended around her elbows, with the fabric extended several more inches in graceful ruffles. Luckily, her neck was bare and unrestricted. She would have felt like she was suffocating otherwise. The skirts split in the center, exposing a pleasant cream-colored fabric. This fabric was much lighter than the fabric of the rest of the dress, which she also appreciated. Embellished along the seams of the dress were gold and blue lace embroidery in the form of flowers and leaves.  
  
Overall, it was an elegant dress, just not something she would normally wear. She much preferred the trousers Alexander wore over Alexandria’s dresses.

As the ladies walked through the streets Angelica and Eliza fervently watched the comings and goings around them, drinking in as much as they could. Likewise, the men on the street drank them in too.

The girls gossiped as they walked, talking about nothing of consequence, until a man walked up from behind their group, and interrupted to speak with Angelica.

“Excuse me, Miss, I know it’s not funny but your perfume smells like your Daddy has money. Why are you slumming it here in your fancy heels?” The man glanced at the other girls, before returning his focus to Angelica. “You looking for someone who can give you ideals?” Lexi looked towards Angelica, excited at seeing her explosive temper.

“Burr, you disgust me. I’m betrothed, you know this. Please leave.” Burr? Alexandria hadn’t attempted to look at the man before, and now she was too frightened he would recognize her, so she kept her tilted away.

Burr opened his mouth to speak again, when Angelica interrupted him. His mouth was open, and he failed to close it when she laid into him.

“You know, Mr. Burr, I’ve been reading _Common Sense_ by Thomas Payne, and you may consider me too intense or insane. You’re looking to start a Revolution? I want a Revelation. Ideas and thoughts are the breeding grounds for Revolution; would you like to hear my thoughts? You claim all men are created equal, but is it only men that are equal? Why do you fight? Do you fight for every single person in the colonies, or are you only concerned with man’s freedom? Are woman not equal; or the slaves, they are human too, do they not deserve the same inalienable rights?” Burr was looking more and more shamefaced as Angelica continued with her impromptu speech. “Everyone deserves to be equal, Mr. Burr, that is why I fight, why do you?”

Alexandria cheered inwardly to herself, Angelica was back to her normal self: no more moping. Risking a glance at Burr, Alexandria noted he looked properly chastised. Burr held no strong opinions on any topic, and that would be his downfall; Alexandria smiled at the outcome.

Angelica brushed past the slack-jawed trust fund baby, and the three other ladies followed behind her. Once far enough away, the girls shared a giggle and resumed their conversation.

Burr, dumbstruck, continued to stand there, gaping like a fish. He remained like this until John Laurens slung an arm over his shoulders, the Marquis De LaFayette and Hercules Mulligan circling around to stand in front of him. Burr wondered if they witnessed the dressing down he received from the eldest Schuyler daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone ask for a history lesson? There's quirlte a few bits in this chapter. 
> 
> Elizabethtown prep school - Alexander Hamilton did actually attend school here, and Mr. Barber was the headmaster. Hamilton was enrolled in the school by Hercules Mulligan!
> 
> Congress - yeah this one's a bit weird and I totally took liberties with it. Only the first Continetal Congress occurred here, and that was in 1774. Eh, oh well. Artistic license. 
> 
> Peggy and not writing - totally false. Peggy maintained correspondence with Hamilton, beginning in 1780 after he started courting Eliza. 
> 
> Schuyler household- I admit I did not do research for this at all. I don't appreciate the concept of owning people, so I took some liberties. Sorry. 
> 
> Angelina's engagement - Okay! So, Angelica was actually married before ever meeting Alexander, and she eloped with Mr. John Barker Church. They lived in London and then in Paris for a total of 16 years before returning to the States. He was, in fact, a member of Parliament, but eventually became a US envoy to the French government. 
> 
> Martha's children - as you probably already know, Martha had 4 children from her previous marriage and none with George. Two of the children, twins I think, died in childhood. One of them was a teenager when she died of an epileptic episode. (My sister has petite mal seizures. I was going to linger here a bit, but decided not to for my own sanity). The fourth, John Custis, who was called Jacky, married and had four children before dying of either dysentery or typhoid fever near the tim of the battle of Yorktown. He served as an aide-de-camp for George. 
> 
> The dress- if interested, here is the dress I described https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/159202
> 
> Any way! Thank you for reading! Stay healthy, stay safe. Your mental health is important too! If you need someone to talk to, message me on tumblr! I'm a little slow to respond sometimes, but I like a good conversation. (I also have way too many gifs of Daveed Diggs, and I can share those too)


	7. SoapBox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A run in with a Mr. Samuel Seabury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I am incredibly sorry this took so long. I could make excuses, but really no one cares, so I hope you'll just accept my apology and enjoy this chapter!
> 
> I've decided to throw out the "historically accurate" thing, cause that takes too long and trying to really follow through with that is honestly just too much, especially when I find myself spending more time doing research about a battle here or an argument there than is strictly necessary. Also, this will allow me to separate the Hamilton cast from their historical counterparts. Because F those guys. (the historical ones, not the musical ones)

“I’m serious! We’ve had Ticonderoga for how long? The General needs to make another move, and soon! Those damned redcoats are beating us at every turn. The news from South Carolina has been nothing but terrible. For every battle won, there are two lost.”

“My dear Laurens, it is not enough to just be angry. We must plan, strategize-”

“I get that Laf, but if we only ever react, we’ll never get the upper hand. We should push back at the British, don’t let them get a foothold here.”

Having been rescued from his embarrassing failure moments prior, Aaron Burr spoke up. “Gentlemen, as much as I appreciate this topic of conversation, do you really believe this is the best place to discuss it?” He glanced meaningfully at the uniformed men across the street. John’s face flushed in anger in response to Burr’s words.

Hercules, seeing John’s rapidly deteriorating patience, cut in before John could cause a scene, “It’s lunchtime, I think. Shall we head to the tavern for a meal?” John blinked, his tirade nipped in the bud. He shrugged as the fight bled from his tense shoulders.

“That is a great idea, Herc” Lafayette, broad smile in place, led the way.

A few streets down, a man by the name of Samuel carried a box, travelling purposefully towards the centre of the square. He placed his box down in front of the lavish fountain, tidied his robes and stepped up onto the upturned box.

Two distinct collections of people rounded opposite corners into the square. The first was a grouping of young ladies. One held a pamphlet close to her face; only her hair visible around the paper. Another girl, lighter in complexion, was admiring the sights of the downtown, her head swivelling this way and that, to drink in as much as she could. The final two walked closely together holding hands. One of the girls pointed out all manner of person and place to the other, creating stories of both fact and fiction to amuse her companion.

The second group was the group of gentlemen that accompanied one Mister Burr: John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and the Marquis de Lafayette. Laurens and Lafayette were locked in animated conversation, Hercules nodding along and smiling where appropriate. Aaron Burr trailed slightly behind the other three, feeling out of place with the three loud and abrasive men.

“Here ye, here ye.” A voice rang through the square, startling and attracting all those within hearing distance. “My name is Samuel Seabury, and I present free thoughts on the Continental Congress.” A gaggle of small children shoved between Lafayette and Hercules, racing to the centre of the square, eager to witness whatever was going to happen. Laurens laughed at Lafayette’s disgruntled expression at having almost lost his balance, while Hercules steadied himself, gripping tightly at Lafayette’s shoulder.

“Heed not the rabble who scream ‘Revolution!’” The man on the box spoke again, “They have not your interest at heart.” Hercules scoffed derisively at the words, having tuned into the gathering crowd.

“Oh my gosh, someone tear this dude apart.” He mumbled. The Revolution existed for a reason, and that was to bring freedom to the people of this country. Here this stain exclaimed that revolutionaries did not do it for the people? If not that, then why on Earth were so many young men dying and fighting a battle they need not fight?

“Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution, don’t let them lead you astray.” Hercules gaped in wonder. The man was right, of course, that death and destruction were never the solution, however the British would not stop imposing themselves simply because the colonists asked nicely. He glanced over at Lafayette, noticing the sneer drawn over his normally calm and kind features.

“This Congress does not speak for me!” The man, Samuel, held a fist over his heart, emotion filling his every word. Heaven have mercy, he truly believed the words he was saying. He raised his face towards the sky, as if to address the clouds and heavenly bodies. Hercules, hand still gripping Lafayette’s shoulder, turned away from the speaker, attempting to drag Lafayette and Laurens with him, away from this lunacy, when he stumbled forward. A small body fell into his, pushing him unexpectedly. Hissed words came from behind him, a woman’s voice.

“No, Lexi, let him be!” Hercules, dazed from the unexpected jolt, turned slightly to see who spoke. A tall young woman gripped the arm of another, much shorter, young lady tightly, indecipherable words hissed under her breath. The smaller woman’s face was hidden behind her curtain of hair, and she attempted to wrench her wrist from the other woman’s grasp. Hercules watched as the finger’s only wrapped tighter.

“They’re playing a dangerous game. I pray the King shows you his mercy.” Samuel turned his face towards the crowd, making eye contact with his listeners. He lifted his hand from where it rested over his heart, pointing at the cluster of people as if to scold them like children, “for shame!”

The small body of the woman shoved past Hercules, forceful and abrupt. The taller woman sighed loudly behind him. Samuel began to speak again.

“Heed not the ra-” Hercules’ eyes bulged out of his head as the small lady shoved the speaker out of his space on the box, taking his place.

“Mr. Seabury would have you all unravel at the sound of screams, but the Revolution is coming! The have-nots are gonna win this.” Samuel, the original speaker, pulled a face, irate and unamused, shouting to be heard over the girl. His words fell on deaf ears as his audience was captured by the other. The young lady seemed able to hear him quite well, however, and turned to address him. “It’s hard to listen to you with a straight face. Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us! Honestly, you shouldn’t even talk.”

Alexandria was in Samuel’s face now, close enough that the man had to step down off the box.

“And what about Boston?” The girl exploded, her temper volatile and tone belligerent. “Look at the cost and all that we lost and yet you choose to talk about Congress?”

“Yes, well, this Congress does not speak for me.” Samuel Seabury was losing his cool. Hercules could practically see the tick at his temple, where he was attempting to keep his temper in check. Hercules smirked at the stress visible on Samuel’s face; serves him right for his ridiculous words.

“You know what, Mr. Seabury? You’re right. Congress couldn’t possibly speak for someone such as yourself. Why, even my dog speaks more eloquently than thee!” Hercules chuckled at the girl’s words, impressed at her gall, and amused by Lafayette’s reaction to her words. The Frenchman jolted, surprised by the words, and let out a sharp bark of laughter before imitating the whining noises of a dog. Hercules joined in quickly, bumping elbows with his friend and sharing a grin.

“Although,” she continued speaking, and Hercules and Lafayette paused in their mimicry to hear what she might say. “Strangely, Sir, your mange seems the same.” The smirk on her face was pure sin, pleasured by her own words and the affronted gasp she received from the man. She giggled derisively, and her smirk only widened with the continued mockery from the crowd.

Samuel, taking the moral high ground, spoke again, repeating himself. “I pray the King shows you his mercy, young lady, becau-” She cut him off again.

“Oh! The King? Is he in Jersey?” Alexandria laughed mockingly, spurred on by the jeering of the crowd. Samuel gaped at her and raised his voice in retaliation.

“For shame!” He shouted, spit flying as his face blotchy red. How dare this insolent woman spit nonsense about the King?

“For the Revolution!” She raised her fist to the sky, riling the crowd further, and they echoed her words back to her. Samuel’s face reddened further, temper boiling over. He shoved her off the box and recited his speech once more. He would regain control of the situation and he would make these people see sense. The colonies were a part of the King’s Empire and the Empire gave them everything and they should be grateful!

Alexandria stumbled off the box, barely catching herself. Her feet tied up beneath her and she fell into the group of men she pushed past earlier. She squeaked when she felt the complete loss of balance. It was only the kind hands of a tall man that kept her upright and off the ground. She turned to him, noticing it was Lafayette, one of the men Alex claimed as a friend, before curtseying slightly in thanks. Steeling herself, she moved forward. She swept her long hair out of her eyes and over her shoulder, straightened her skirts and righted her sleeves. Once she was satisfied, she addressed the man on the box with all the presence of a queen.

“If you repeat yourself again,” She began. “It will make me scream. Honestly, look at me!” She resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a petulant child. Rather, she crossed her arms over her chest and stepped imperiously forward, demanding his attention with both her words and actions. Samuel glanced at her before rolling his eyes heavenward, opening his mouth to address the crowd again.

“Please don’t read!” She cried as the words started flowing from him like water. “Please, if you are willing to share your opinion, then you should be willing to defend it. Don’t modulate the key then not debate with me.” She stepped ever closer to the man of the soapbox, fire burning in her eyes. “Why should a tiny island across the sea regulate the price of tea?” Her arms swept out and she spun around, addressing the crowd directly. “Why should that tiny island regulate anything about our country?”

A cry swept up from the crowd, cheering for her, for the Revolution, and for America. Alexandria grinned shamelessly. This is what she wanted, this is what she could be proud of. She pumped her fist in the air, cheering with the exuberant crowd. Samuel Seabury, no longer able to control or command the attention of the crowd, scurried off, taking his soap box with him.

“Ahem, mademoiselle?” A voice to her right interrupted her cheering. She turned to the voice and found herself facing a chest. The shirt was stretched tight over the man’s chest, the cravat hiding the buttons that were no doubt pulling from the size of the man. Her eyes trailed upwards, drinking in every detail, before finally reaching the man’s eyes, the colour of the Brandywine chocolates her Father gifted her Mother. His hair glowed from the sunlight behind him, reflecting like a halo.

The man reached for her hand, bowing and lifting the hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I ask the name of the lady who has brought New York to riot?”

Alexandria blushed brightly, her brain stuttering to a stop at the warm lips against her cold hand. They had already met, but he didn’t know that, and her brain was too busy short-circuiting to form a proper response. Lafayette peered up at her from between his eyelashes, still bowed over her hand.

“Alexandria! There you are! Angelica was worried about you!” Thank everything that was good and holy for Peggy and her impeccable timing. Without realising it, Peggy had taken Alexandria’s hands in her own, breaking the spell cast between her eyes and Lafayette’s. “The crowd got so crazy and we lost sight of you! You really should think before picking fights and starting riots!” Lafayette chuckled at Peggy’s words.

“I’m not sure about that. I’ve never met a woman as feisty and nimble minded as this young lady. I’m impressed, really! I think you may have single-handedly convinced more people to join the Revolution.” Alexandria blushed brilliantly, the tips of her ears turning pink. Peggy, the traitor, pinched her ear, pointing it out.

“Aww, look! So cute, you’ve made her blush!”

“Peggy! Do you mind?” This time, Alexandria stomped her foot like a petulant child, pushing Peggy’s hand off her. She opened her mouth, about to scold her friend when the deep laugh of the gentleman distracted her.

“Not at all, but really, let’s go! Angelica and Eliza are waiting.” Peggy gripped Alexandria’s wrist, intending on dragging her through the raucous crowd if need be. Alexandria dug in her heels, attempted to remain where she stood, at least a moment longer. She turned to address the Frenchman even while being pulled forcefully in the opposite direction.

“I’m Alexandria,” Her voice was raised, hoping he was still able to make out her voice among the throng of people, even as she was wrenched away. “Alexandria Washington. A pleasure to meet you.”

He bowed with a flourish, bending at the waist until his torso was parallel with the floor, one arm tucked neatly against his waist. His heels met perfectly, and his toes pointed outwards. The perfect soldier’s bow. He lifted his gaze from the floor to meet her eyes, even as she was pulled ever deeper into the crowd, almost out of view.

“No, my dear. The pleasure is all mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted at 1.43 AM, so please forgive any gross errors and simply let me know that I've made a mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi! (I haven't done this before so please have patience with me!)
> 
> [ToyMouse](https://toymouse.tumblr.com/)


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